I need a lot more than Calgon. My friends Jim(Beam) and Johnny(Walker), probably won't be of much assistance either. It's just going to be one of those weeks.
Where to start.....hmmmmm. Well, one of the Weasels is putting me through the ringer. School, home and personal hygiene all seem to be buttons that she is pushing with me. This is not her normal mode of parental torture, usually she just ignores chores. But for, who on earth knows why, she has upped the ante. Maybe she is running an scientific experiment to test the amount of stress I can handle before I spontaneously combust. She should see results very soon.
Last weekend The Weasel Family made a really great video post. Much better than any of the crap you are reading
right now this week. Problem is, Mr. Weasel can't find the right widget to download from his camera to the Mac. "Give me 24 hrs." he said. That was 9 days ago.
Next on the list, the stupid toilet. It had been running. We fixed it. It started running again. We fixed it again. Still running. We temporarily gave up. We started to adjust the valve manually after every flush. We would revisit the problem on the weekend. Enter the crash heard from bathroom. While a Weasel was attempting to adjust the valve, the tank lid fell. The lid didn't break, but it took out a nice chunk on the outside of the bowl. Should just be an aesthetic problem, but we will have to replace toilet. Flush again, water comes out the side in a stream like a
peeing fountain. The most used bathroom in the house is rendered 'out of order'. We must now replace ASAP.
Sunday, Mr. Weasel heads out to buy a new toilet. He comes home with groceries. I didn't get it either, until he explained that he had stopped to pick up groceries on the way home because he forgot to get some measurement or something before purchase of new toilet.
He heads back out to buy toilet yet again. He comes home with toilet this time. Hoorah! He decides to leave it in the car for now and to fix it the next night. Fine by me. Monday night, install time. Friend comes over to help. Mr. Weasel brings said toilet in from the car. Mr. Weasel starts cursing. He bought a white tank and an almond bowl. Back to store yet again. Friend also mentions that Mr. Weasel might want to get a seat also. What'dya mean new toilets don't come with a seat? You gotta be kidding me! Well they don't, and he grabs a plain white seat while at the store too to save him from yet another trip.
Back home and ready to install. Mr. Weasel will have to go back to the store again. "Why?", you may ask. because he grabbed a $52.00 toilet seat! What the heck! What kind of miracle massaging, heated, self cleaning, gender discerning toilet seat do they sell for $52.00? Nope, just a plain white toilet seat. It does claim to be 'quiet close', but that is the only special feature. Mr. Weasel didn't see the price when he grabbed it. It will go back, just not right now. There is work to be done.
So friend and Mr. Weasel install toilet, no further problems. I wake up this morning and head for the bathroom. We just reinstalled the old seat for now. I look at the toilet. It seems small, shorter than previous toilet. I go to sit down and think I am going to fall into a black hole. My knees may soon be in my chest. This things is so low to the ground it must have been made for midgets!(get over it, little people if you must). I am only 5"4", and this thing was short even for me. It's bigger than the toddler size toilets, but not by much. It's short enough that I will have to repaint the bathroom. You can see the lack of paint behind where the toilet used to be.
I hate the new toilet. Hate it. And I am now stuck with it for at least the next 20 or so years. I can't tell Mr. Weasel I hate it. He put too much effort in, and this is not his natural forte. Besides, boy Weasel was in a rush to break it in, can't return it now. Maybe it will grow on me. Hopefully with enough fertilizer and water it will just grow.
I swear that these sort of things don't happen to other people. Please prove me wrong.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
This past weekend Mr. Weasel earned a few more gray hairs. He aged a bit in more ways than one. Saturday was the anniversary of his birth. To celebrate the event Eldest Weasel had her first real date, with a real boy, to go to Homecoming.
This is the start of an era that Mr. Weasel has feared since she was born. For years he has trashed talked how he would 'handle these boys' when the time came. He actually went to the Home Depot to look for boy repellent spray in the pest control aisle to treat the perimeter of the property.
Saturday was a jammed packed day anyway, so his mind was mostly distracted away from the main event. We had an early Cross Country meet and then a fundraiser event for SIDS of Illinois. Even with distraction, the more the clock ticked, the crabbier and more anxious Mr. Weasel became.
By the time 'the boy' arrived to pick Eldest up Mr. Weasel was just about to ready to blow. But also felt bad for the "the Boy'. He is a nice kid. We have known him and his family for a few years. He is very shy and was shaking like a leaf. He was definitely the 'harmless' date.
I however, show no mercy. I entertain myself by preying on people's weak spots. As we are taking pictures(Boy's mom(chauffeur) and I), I put my hand on the boy's quaking shoulder, looked him squarely in the eye and said "Mr. Weasel has been to prison,.......and he's not afraid to go back.". The boys Mom nearly wet her pants laughing. The boy nearly wet his pants but was not laughing. Mr. Weasel was grateful.
We then arranged that Mr. Weasel would pick them up from the dance and chauffeur them home. This way there would be no chance of Boy trying to kiss Mr. Weasel's daughter good night.
One daughter down, 3 more to go.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
I was tagged today with a meme today by Dad of Divas. It's a weekend, so what the heck.
Here are 6 random things about me.
!. I once broke the arm of a man who tried to mug me on the subway.
2. I am an East Coast Girl originally.
3. I wake up by 5 a.m.
4. I've been 'back roomed' in Vegas. But like this.
5. Served Dinner to Reggie White(NFL) multiple times.
6. I enjoy Phineas and Ferb to the umpteenth degree.
So, was this worth reading?
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Today my lovely reading audience, you get a two-for. That's right, it's buy one get one free here at World of Weasels!
I won the giveaway over at Jenny's Happy Life! It was for this really cool doll. This was her first giveaway(well maybe on the internet) and so she decided to let people gain an entry for every comment they left as long as they gave up some link love on their blogs. This got ugly and she wound up with 163 comments. Sixty of which were from me. After a while of trying to think up original comments, I decided to just tell a story about why I should win the doll, even though the winner would be drawn from a random number generator. But for your blogging enjoyment I am publishing a segment of those comments here:
I am going to keep leaving comments until yours are jammed or until you decide to just throw the doll at me.
Can you tell my mom never bought me a doll?
Just a potato.....
That I had to draw and cut out construction paper clothes and tape them on.
And I would love and rock and cuddle the 'lil tater.
I would give it all the love that a little girl could
I would have to keep grooming 'lil tater by picking the eyes off as they grew.
No matter how much I cared for her, she would start to shrivel.
And eventually rot.
And I would have to throw 'lil tater away.
Or worse. If Mom was making dinner and running short on potatos.......yeah you guessed it.
'Lil Tater would be pulled from my arms, Skinned, thrown into a pot of boiling water, and mashed into a starchy pulp.
Then would be served to me for dinner.
I always hated mashed potatoes anyway.
But this was just traumatic. Force fed my 'Lil tater Hanibal style.
Does this story, get me the doll?
of course none of this is true.
But funny none the less.
I am a pretty twisted chick.
And as posted by Jenny herself:
"And...I know she'll be proud of this...the winning comment was at the end of her dear "Potato Doll" Story. It should be published. It really should. My Mom has been here visiting and I told her the story, and she believed it. I had to explain it was just a joke, it was that riveting."
Proof that I am both sick and talented!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
So it has officially happened. Melisa, over at Suburban Scrawl, has saved my ego and dignity. She saved me from a fate worse than showing up naked in high school. Saved me from flapping in the wind, out there vulnerable, on the trading block in the great minivan trade-up. She has traded up for me.
What was I traded for you ask? A Money Can't Buy Happiness Basket, but it can buy Weaselmomma! Here's a description of the contents:
1. A practically new (still has the fill-it-in-yourself id card in it) Brighton knockoff wallet: You may remember this wallet from this post.
2. A necklace from Coldwater Creek
3. Large assortment of new-in-package scrapbooking supplies, including a set of alphabet books
4. Four CDs to use for working out; one is 128 beats per minute all the way through and is great for ab work or resistance training (Hint: do you like N*SYNC?); three are custom blends that can be used for spinning or treadmill work (or even housecleaning: vacuuming is way more fun when you are listening to sprint music!)
5. If you're not the workout type, I have a new-in-package Hallmark CD: "Relaxing Instrumental Music, Volume 1"
6. One hardcover, never-read copy of Anna Quindlen's "A Short Guide to a Happy Life". Never read because I'm both too busy and apparently plenty happy enough.
Total value: $270
You all should be really jealous. Melisa and I are practically neighbors. We have hit it off blog style and will now get to do the real thing. We may become Friday night happy hour buddies, and you can all just drool an envious drool.
I wish all the luck in the world to Chris and his quest for a minivan, but I must say that I am relieved race horse style that my segment of the trade is complete. But I urge you all to check him and this project out. Root through the storage area and trade up!
This whole thing has been a real hoot. And I want to see it succeed. A something for nothing scam, how cool if it really works. I cheer you on in your quest Chris!
On a completely different note, I love to travel. I seldom get to travel. The last time I traveled(for pleasure anyway) Mr. Weasel and I took off for a romantic long weekend at one of our favorite destinations, that turned out to be anything but a romantic getaway. That's a totally different post, but one that I must blog eventually.
Anywho......I am taking a trip. All by myself! Actually it's a virtual trip. I am going to visit Busy Dad! Not really, but kinda sorta. Any of you who have children or know people who have children should be familiar with "Flat Stanley". I'll wait while you click the link.
Okay? All done? Well I am going to send out "Flat WeaselMomma" to Busy Dad. He is going to show me a good time in CA. Then he will post about it and send it back to me.
Anyone else interested in WeaselMomma coming for a virtual visit let me know in the comments and I will add you to the list of the WeaselMomma 2008 World tour. You just have to blog about all the fun things we saw and did.
Monday, September 22, 2008
How To Know When You Are Circling The Drain Of Social Relevancy
If above is a picture of your motorized scooter, you are circlng.
If you feel the need to dress up before going to a high falutin' store like Walmart, you are circling.
If you take and appreciate fashion advice from your MIL, you are circling.
If your big night out on the town means you'll be asleep by 10 pm, you are circling.
If you give a speech on Global Warming in New York on the coldest day in decades during an exceptionally brutally cold winter, you are circling.
If you buy your lingerie at Odd Lots, You my dear are circling.
If you have convinced yourself that it is okay to wear black socks with sandals, you are circling.
If you have never actually met any of your friends, you are circling.
If you still wear your PJ's in public(and are over age 17), thinking you look hip and stylish enough to go to the Walmart, you are circling.
If you sport a Ralph Nadar yard sign in the lawn, you are circling.
If you are Michael Moore, you are circling.
And finally the number one red flag that you are circling the drain of social relevancy ...........Drum roll please..................................:
If you enjoy funerals because they are the best cocktail parties you get invited to, you dear are circling.
I myself, fall into the guilty catagory on one of these. Can you guess which one? Are you circling?
Friday, September 19, 2008
Mr. Weasel and I should never be allowed in public together. We simply do not know how to behave. It doesn't matter how mundane the venue, we are like immature teenagers. We are the most inappropriate people that you would ever want to invite to your house for a cocktail party(but you would want to invite us).
This brings me to yesterday. We had made a cute "his and her" Doctor appointment. MW has been seeing this doctor for a while now. I had been avoiding anything to do with doctors for a few years. Anywho....we were going together so that we could start the Chantix quit smoking program together(yeah yeah, get over it).
I need a sense of humor in a Doctor. I can't stand Mr or Mrs Clinical Can't Crack A Smile. Be a real person damnit. MW assured me that I would like this guy.
So we are sitting in the waiting room, along with Smallest Weasel(none of you offered to babysit) and the geriatric set. It was like we were hitting the early bird dinner special. We are acting goofy and stupid as usual. None of this waiting patiently and quiet nonsense. We don't believe in decorum. MW pops a jolly rancher, as provided at the front desk, into his mouth and decides to 'make a basket' with the wrapper into my cleavage. Nothin' but net! The funny part was Mr. 40 yrs past prime across the room saw the whole thing and didn't need to take his Viagra that afternoon.
Soon we are called back. We both have to do the scale thing. MW makes a comment about the unpleasant facial expression expression I made when taking that step up. After that we sit and wait in the room, making stupid juvenile comments, making our own fun.
Doctor Straightman Funny Pants comes in, gives MW the once over and he's done. My turn.
MD: "How much do you drink?
Me: How much are you offering? I paid the cover. "about a case a week."
MD: Well only one a day is recommended for women, 2 a day for men.
Me: That's sexist!
MD: Yeah it is, but it's based on body weight.
Me: So you would encourage me to gain about 200 lbs.
Me: Okay, I can do that.
MD: You do know the definition of an alcoholic...Anyone who drinks more than you do. I'll give you 2 a day, after that it starts messing with your liver and heart. But You can't save them up for Saturday and have 14. Have the 2 or lose them.
Me: this is a sick joke, where's the hidden camera? This guy thinks he's a funny man. "alrighty then".
Smallest Weasel: "I have to go potty"
MW: I'll take her.
MW and Smallest Weasel exit.
MD: Anything you want to tell me while he's gone?
Me: I used to be a man.
MD: who nearly falls of his stool. "I'll never tell".
enter MW and Smallest Weasel
MD: I'll start you on Chantix now, so you can do this together. But I want you back in a month for the full gown treatment. He can come back in 3 months.
Me: I was just kidding about the man thing.
MD: I know, but your overdue for an entire workup.
MW: He just wants to get to know better, without me around.
So we leave and MW gets to laugh at me about the 2 beer thing.
I may just wear a prom gown to my next appointment.
P.S. Over at Jenny's Happy Life there is a fantabulous giveaway that belongs to me. Check it out and drool, but it will be mine.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Mr. Weasel has ruined me. I have always been a no-frills kind of chick. I was never into girly stuff. I hate clothes shopping. I am not a shoe fiend. I always did my own nails
until he pushed me into convinced me to go treat myself at a salon. I don't go to fancy hair salons(a friend does a better job at a much better price).
Over the years Mr. Weasel has
badgered encouraged me to splurge a little and pamper myself. He wanted me to have nice quality things. I was happy with the target variety undergarments. He encouraged me to shop Victoria's Secret. I argued about what a huge waste of money and how they only make bras for women who can hold theirs up without any support. Why would I spend $46 on something that I could get for $9.99 elsewhere? That is until I tried some on.
I bought one. It soon became my favorite. I could see and feel the quality difference. And it was pretty. It didn't start to wear and fall apart, like the discount variety. It was flattering. I have a heavy load to carry and it did the job better. Soon enough, every time I needed a replacement, I headed back to Vicky's. Now I have an entire collection, because even after a few years of wear, they are still in great condition.
Every few months they change up the colors they offer and so I manage to splurge and add another color to the rainbow. Well anyway, it's about time I get to the point.
I need to replace my black Ipex
that makes me look like a supermodel. Every woman needs a black bra to wear under the little black dress. It's a wardrobe essential for us chicks. Mine did not wear out, but was lost by Delta, back in the spring, along with all my favorite clothes, make-up and Vicky's Heavenly perfume(my favorite scent). I had yet to get around to replacing these items. And also yet to be reimbursed by the airline. But that's a whole nother post.
Back to actually trying to make my point. I was out running errands all by myself the other day. I decided that I should put this errand on my list for the day. I call Mr. Weasel.
Me: Hey you. I want to stop and replace my black bra and perfume at Vicky's today.
Me: I just wanted to check if I could.
MW: Well, yeah. Just use your best judgment.
Me: Oh! You are sooo cute! I wasn't asking permission. I was asking if I had enough money in checking for the extra stop.
MW: Uh, yeah you do.
So into the store I head. I am on a mission. I know exactly what I need. Size, style, color. No changing room necessary(I hate trying stuff on). I am making a bee line to the back of the store where said item lives, when I am completely and utterly distracted by the display of the newest and prettiest fall color of IPEX ever!!!!! A deep rich two tone cranberry. I try to focus. I head for the black. I actually need the black. I pick up the black. I start to walk to perfume. Once again I find myself distracted by the cranberry display. It is sooooo pretty. I start sorting through the display for the right size(Flppin' catapult). I am trying to stay on focus. Buy black. You came in to buy the black. You need the black. I am sure that someone simultaneously was casting a Jedi mind trick on me. You WANT the cranberry. It is very pretty. It is dark enough to wear under black.
I give in and select the cranberry. I head back to replace the black. I am distracted by the matching panties. They are on sale. Must have the matching panties. Buy 3 and save. Well, I'll just have to get 3. It's for the greater good. It makes more consumer sense. I make my selections and head for perfume where I actually quickly grab my favorite scent and head to the register.
I leave the store $100 later,
with a beautiful and flattering without a black bra.
I didn't used to be like this. He ruined me. Now I think I have acquired ADOS (Attention Deficit..OooooH Shiny).
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Have you ever noticed that NukeDad and WeaselMomma often blog similar thoughts on the same day? Hmmmm.
Need proof? See here and here, this and this.
Have you ever actually seen NukeDad and WeaselMomma in the same room? Hmmm.
Could it be a whole Clarke Kent/Superman thing going on?
Ever notice how WeaselMomma and NukeDad frequent the same blogs and comment, but never until after the first has left the site?
They both seem to hang with the neighbors more often than is natural.
They both know about car repairs.
They both have relatives that live in the sticks.
And they both have an unhealthy fascination with glorified rodents.
Does WeaselMomma actually have an underground lair that she enters via a phone booth to transform into NukeDad? Who has the keys to the Nuke-mobile? Or Does NukeDad enter the Lair to transform into WeaselMomma and drive the Hot Mobile?
Or does NukeDad actually live with his elderly aunt, Peter Parker style, and was bitten by a radio active weasel on a class trip that turns him into WeaselMomma with special breastfeeding powers and the ability to down a bottle of beer in a single swig?
If you make WeaselMomma angry, and you won't like her when she's angry, will she uncontrollably transform into NukeDad and go all mushroom cloud on you?
Maybe they are the creation of the evil genius behind the scenes Dr I Said No.
Sure, NukeDad and WeaselMomma look nothing alike, or do they? But don't all Superheroes have a secret identity? What an ingenious disguise.
Could WeaselMomma be the secret identity of NukeDad? Could NukeDad be the alter-ego of Weaselmomma? The only real difference between the 2 seems to be that NukeDad is entertaining and funny and WeaselMomma is just a talentless hack. Or is that just a great cover?
This could be the start of the next great conspiracy theory.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
"Where were you when the world stopped turning, That September day?" is asked in a song lyric. It is a question that each one of us could answer with vivid recall. The emotions of that day are strong enough to come flooding back, when we choose to remember.
The horror, shock and fear of that day still course through my veins. I was in the car. I had just dropped Mr. Weasel at the train station for his commute to a sky scraper adjacent to the Sears Tower. The news report came on the radio seconds after I had pulled away to continue my morning trek to drop the kids off at school. "A plane has crashed into the World Trade Center in Manhattan, we will report details as we know them" said the show host. Immediately I had thought terrorism. I had to tell myself to wait, to find out more. This could have been an accident. Maybe it was a small plane. I took the kids into school and when I returned to the car they were talking about planes(plural) having crashed. That had confirmed for me that this was no accident.
I hurried home and back into the house to turn on the news and see the smoke billowing from the towers. That's an image we have all now seen hundreds of times and never fails to lose it's effect on me. I tried calling Mr. Weasel to tell him to turn around and come home. He had lack of phone signal and didn't answer. I new that this was not over. That if they had 2 planes, they probably had more. I wanted Mr. Weasel home.
I called my mother. She tried insisting to me that this was only in New York and that Mr. Weasel would be fine. I knew that there would be more. I finally was able to get a hold of him as he was entering his office building and was barely able to pass through the lobby for all the people watching the news. This was how he discovered what was going on. Like Mom, he insisted that this was only in New York and he would call me back soon.
I called Mom back. I am getting angry that he won't come home. She was trying to convince me that it was fine. I wasn't buying it. We were still talking when the news broke of an 'explosion has rocked the Pentagon'. I almost scream this news into the phone. They are talking about "planes still unaccounted for". Now Mom starts screaming at me "tell Mr. Weasel to get the hell home!".
Shortly after that Mr. Weasels building and and all other office buildings downtown were evacuated and the entire city work force headed for Union Station or other train stations. This struck me as a great target for sitting ducks.
Soon the news would report about the crash of flight 93 in Pennsylvania. I cried I prayed and I watched. 102 minutes after the crash into the second tower The Nation watched live as it came tumbling down. There were no more words to say. We watched and prayed as people covered in soot emerged from the debris cloud. We cried as we knew many had died.
I picked Mr. Weasel up after his train commute and held him with all my strength. I was relieved to have him safe, but also just needed to be held. We watched the news almost in silence for the remainder of the day. The news remained on in my home 24/7 for at least a week after that.
As we remember this anniversary, may all of the images and emotions of that day stay with us. May our experiences that day remain seared into who we are and bond us as Americans. May we remember that through the efforts of brave and hardworking men and women, both in and out of uniform, have been working diligently to protect us from this happening again. Those who are serving in a way that will never be able to make the evening news, and thank God for them. May we remember that because of such a fast response that day other targets were not struck. Although Al Quida had many more on their list that day. May we remenber the heroes of that day. The first responders, The soldiers at the pentagon, the office workers and those aboard flight 93 who worked to save their fellow Americans that day. May we fly our flags in memorial for the dead and with pride in our country.
Where were you when the world stopped turning?
And May we Never Forget.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Than I was on September 10th of last year. No, It's not my birthday. It is, however, the anniversary of the the birth of Middle Weasel. For the next few weeks I will be the mother of two 11 year olds at the same time.
I can hear what you are saying, "yikes they are close together!". And that they are. Middle Weasel has been a ball of happy surprises from the day we found out she was growing inside me. She was our big surprise. She was our "stop pulling my leg" child. She was our "I swear I wasn't involved child". As our son was a high maintenance infant who barely left time for parental sleep. She was our happiest and greatest surprise ever.
It took a little getting used to, the idea that I was going to have a baby, as I was holding my new baby in my arms. But after the initial shock wore off, there was no doubt in our minds that this would be a most wonderful gift.
She would continually surprise us throughout her life. She started by offering the doctor photographic evidence(via ultra sound) that she was in fact a boy. I still have that evidence. And it was so obvious on the screen, that I felt silly for asking.
I still contend that God had mercy on my sorry self. Eldest wanted a little sister for quite some time and put me through some serious trials when we brought home our son(#2) from the hospital. If she didn't get the sister she ordered, someone was going to pay. Even after we told her the new baby would be a boy she continued to insist that we were having a baby girl. Either she has psychic abilities without lottery numbers or God had been extra kind to us.
Next she decided to make her entrance 2 weeks early. Later that day we found out that she had fooled the specialist yet again and was 3 weeks early.
Mr. Weasel and I were in the delivery room, and had the nurses in stitches, still bantering and arguing about boys names. As she was born, the room fell silent. The cord had been badly wrapped around her neck and her color was purple. No one would tell me what was wrong. The Doctor and staff worked quickly and soon she pinked up. Her first apgar was 1, the second was 10. Then the laughter broke out. "What's wrong?" immediately switched to "What's so funny?".
They were all laughing because "You don't have to argue about boy names anymore". We had a beautiful baby girl. And I do mean beautiful. Most babies are kind of squishy and awkward looking at first. Not this one. She was a gorgeous cherub.
She brought so much joy and laughter to our home that Mr. Weasel, who had only ever envisioned 2 children, 3 at the outside, came over to my side of the fence and said that he wanted to have a whole brood. And he obviously meant it. And it gave Eldest Weasel her first opportunity to say "I told you so".
So Thank you to Middle Weasel. We love you and appreciate all the joy you bring to our home, but cut out the surprises. Happy Birthday!
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Today I thought I would try the 'stick to what you' theme. Stupid thoughts is something I have an overflowing resume of.
1. How come Puerto Rico won't vote in favor or statehood, but California won't secceed (no offense to Mike or BusyDad)?
2. Why does my entering a checkout line prompt the person in front of me to write a check?
3. If Ella Fitzgerald married Alan Funt, she would have been Ella Funt(sound it out people).
4. Why does buckling a car seat immediately give small children the urge to use the bathroom?
5. Why is it that every time I find a really great style of jeans, the manufacturer discontinues them?
6. Why is it that you start feeling better just a soon as you make an appointment to see the doctor?
7. Why does the weather always seem to turn lousy every time I have a day of errand running to do?
8. Why do we as a country sink so much more money into Alzheimer's research that we do SIDS research?
9. Why does advertising for cat food served in fine crystal work? They are cats. They will dig for rotten fish in the garbage. They don't have extremely discerning pallets.
10. How come the greater a man's IQ, the less likely he is to be able to dress himself?
11. Why can young boys memorize every pokemon and their abilities/stats, but not remember anything they did in school?
12. Why does it always rain after I water the grass? Or wash the car?
13. Last but not least, why are you still reading this lame wad list? You know you have better things to do with your time. That said I love all my readers for sticking it through to the bottom, especially with posts like this. I wish you all a beer.
P.S. OhCaptain has come up with answers to these questions for me and has posted them at The Life and Thoughts of A Midwest Geek.
Monday, September 8, 2008
As usual the weekend around here was pretty busy. Nothing major exciting, but I like it that way, but plenty of busy. I take that back. I did have my share of exciting, both good and bad.
1. Friday was Smallest Weasel's first day of pre-school. She was happy and excited to go. She knew that she would get to go after lunch so she started asking to eat lunch at 8:30 am and every 15 minutes after that. I dropped her off at the door with the teachers. She was too big to kiss me goodbye in front of her new classmates. My Older Weasels didn't start this behavior until 6th grade. All the Moms who who were dropping of their oldest child for the first time were fragile and in tears. I was doing a happy dance. Three days a week I will have 2 1/2 hours where I can use the bathroom without and audience!
2. Saturday morning Eldest Weasel had a city wide cross country meet. She ran 3 miles in 22:33. She placed 9th overall and her team won the race as a whole(if you don't understand how cross country is scored-go look it up, I'm feeling too lazy to link.). Not bad rabbit! We were mighty proud.
3. Saturday afternoon Smallest Weasel and Monkey Weasel went to go play at a friends house. All is well, kids are outside. Friends mom watching them and letting them roam through the quiet cul-de-sac playing with the other children who were out. That is until I go to pick them up and we are unable to locate Smallest Weasel and her 3 yr old counterpart. They said they were going to play with sisters X and Y, who's mom was also outside. They weren't there. We asked neighbor N, who was gardening. She said to check in her back yard, they were there earlier. Nope. Checked inside. Nope. Now I am not frantic, as all these homes are fenced and child friendly. All of the neighbors and the kids play together and in the summertime it's almost like a commune. That is until neighbor N says "Did you check A & B's pool?". Now it's time to panic. The pool is always locked, but things happen and little ones are creative. As a Mom who has lived through the unthinkable, I have never been so scared in all my life. Tragedy was not just a possibility in my mind, it was a probability. Thank God the pool was empty and I found them next door on the trampoline in back. They had told neighbor L, "yes, our Mom's know we are here." So neighbor L let them play as would be the norm. Relieved that they were safe, but angry that they lied and went where they weren't known to be, we went home and she straight to bed. Having her home and safe and Mr. Weasel near, I could no longer hold it together and had a complete meltdown. All Mr. Weasel could do to stop me from shaking was to put a medicinal dose of rum in my hand(actually it was 4 doses) and then put me to bed also. Maybe days like this and this explain the twitch in my eye.
4. Sunday afternoon Mr. Weasel and I forced Eldest Weasel to watch Saving Private Ryan. It was on and she is taking a class in World War II. It is easier to break a mustang on the open plains than it is to make a teen pay attention to something she doesn't want too. When it was over I asked her "Well, what did you think?''. The reply "It was okay". Coming from her that means I give it 4 stars.
5. Sunday evening made sure school clothes were ready and prepped for the week.
6. Monday morning find out Monkey Weasel forgot to do her home work and once again we left 5 minutes late for school.
Lucky for me that the good Lord has blessed me with a lack of short term memory for negative events. I can always remember the positives, but am able to block out the negatives as soon as they are over. Hence, today is a new day and all I remember form the weekend is watching Eldest Weasel cross the finish line with her new personal best time on that course and that this afternoon I will be able to go potty all by myself- just like a big girl.
Friday, September 5, 2008
We have quite a menagerie of pets around here. Or rather I should say, The Weasel's have pets of their own. There are caged rodents, 3 cats and 3 toads at the moment. We did manage to get the transient dog back to his owner after about a month and a half. This wasn't planned, it just sort of happened. Most likely due to the fact that Mr. Weasel and I are
Last year around this time, we thought it prudent to give Middle Weasel a hamster for her birthday if she managed to show responsibility by keeping her
fire hazard bedroom clean. She's a bit high of a high strung drama queen, who has an unreasonable aversion to neatness. She could use the responsibility of caring for another life to keep her focused and grounded. Glorified rat #1 enters the house.
A few months later came Monkey Weasel's birthday. Of course she asks to get a hamster too. We weigh this. She's old enough, responsible enough and needs a good reason to clean her
slightly less than a war torn area bedroom. We welcome yet another varmint into our home willingly.
All is good. This is working. Bedrooms are kept to a functional standard, vermin are well cared for by the Weasels(a close cousin of the hamsters). WeaselMomma only has to help out when total cage overhaul is needed.
Fast forward a few months. It's around 8 pm. We are trying to get Younger Weasels tucked in for the night. Brush teeth, change into pajamas, kiss goodnight, and try to pre-empt nightly stalling tactics, especially from drama queen Middle Weasel. Just as all is going according to plan, said Weasel comes running to me panic mode(nothing new here). "Midnight is dead!!!!! He isn't moving!". "Calm down, he's probably just sleeping(thinking, what-ever, just go to bed). Mr Weasel, would you go check on Midnight?".
"Yup, he's dead." Comes the official Daddy confirmation. At this point I have to go check for myself as hysterics have all Weasels out of bed and sobbing like they had just filled up the tank on an SUV. "No wait, I just saw him move, look!" I say, and sure enough he was alive.......albeit barely. We wrapped him for warmth in a wash cloth and tried to give him water from a dropper(come on what else could we do for him. I am not taking a $7 hamster to the $80 vet.) and watched him die in my hands. His official burial was held that Friday, coincidentally trash day in these parts.
About a week later, after completely disinfecting all of his hamster belongings we brought another rodent home from the pet store. This poor thing didn't even live through the 2 week warranty period. I guess this is why they reproduce in such large numbers.
Hamster #2 seems to be thriving just fine, so what's the deal? Maybe the 3rd times the charm.
I take Middle Weasel complete with warranty papers and cardboard coffin back to the pet store. We find an agreeable rodent(did I just say that?) and off we go home. It's bitter cold outside and I am protecting this thing with all I can. I wrap him(in his box) into my coat and drive home this way. Mr Weasel has the cage decontaminated and ready at home.
We enter the house and set box with rodent#4 on the counter. We decide to give him 5 minutes of non motion before we transplant him to his new home. The Weasels are chomping at the bit to look at him. It takes all of our
threatening energy to keep them from disturbing precious box. Weasels are complaining "we can't hear him, he's not moving!". "he's probably just sleeping(where have we heard that before?). I am a little anxious, but am sure I'm just paranoid at this point. I force myself to wait until we are ready to do the transfer.
Finally, it's now time. I open the box with 12 eyes watching, and I swallow my tongue as the critter in in the corner not moving. Shit! is the only thought that goes through my head. Externally I remain composed. I make eye contact with Mr. Weasel who telepathically tells me that he shares my same sentiment. I reach my hand into the box to pick up the corpse when he lifts his head and starts to scurry. He was just sleeping!
Till this day, he and rodent #2 are thriving just fine. I have to shake my head at how hard we work to keep rodents healthy in our home when everyone else I know would be calling pest control.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Ahhh, another day in Weaselville! Here is the run down of my life here yesterday. I can't even say this this day was A-typical.
The following takes place between 5 am and 8 am.
5 am...Woke up, did my buzzing, had some coffee in relative peace and quiet.
6:45 am...Got out of bed, woke Weasels to get dressed, made lunches while
screaming at them encouraging them to eat breakfast and brush teeth and hair.
7:27 am...Kissed Mr. Weasel goodbye.
7:45 am...Loaded the Den into the car, off to school we go, 5 minutes behind schedule.
8:10 am...Back home with Smallest Weasel. Posted for the day about the most prominent thing on my mind, the pain of stupidity.
10 am...Back int the car to run errands with Smallest Weasel begging for gum and to pick up some groceries.
11:43 am... Cell Phone rings in the middle of check out. "Mrs. Weasel, this is Nurse Kindness from school, I have Monkey Weasel here. I think you need to come. She fell on the playground and has split her chin. There is general agreement that she needs stitches". I'm plenty calm about this and thinking no big deal, this is not our 1st trip to the ER. Not the reaction that this brand new school(only opened last week for the first time) was expecting.
11:45 am...Back in car with Smallest Weasel, making calm bee line to school.
12 pm...Arrive in office and understand why I was asked to come right away.
12:10 pm...Pack all Weasels from the school into car to head to ER, no sense leaving the gang in school if I might not be back in time to pick them up.
12:40 pm...Arrive in ER waiting room and have all able Weasels start homework while we wait.
1:28 pm...Hold Monkey Weasel's hand and watch as Dr. Good With Kids digs pebbles of fresh blacktop out of wound and starts to sew her chin back together from the inside out.
2:15 pm...Discharged from ER complete with large bandaid, 10 stitches and stuffed animal gift from the staff.
3:00 pm...Only one thing we can do now, stop for ice cream, she has earned it and so has the
rest of the Den for patience and great behavior.
3:20 pm...Back in car to head to Eldest Weasels Cross Country meet, picking up Mr. Weasel
at the train station on the way.
6:30 pm...Meet is over(she did great!) and need to fight rush hour traffic as numbing medication
is wearing off for Monkey Weasel.
7:30 pm...Arrive home, through mish-mash of leftovers at the Den for dinner. Dispense Advil.
Listen to moans and groans of 3 of the uninjured Weasels complaining with sore
throats. Block it out as white noise, they are jealous of attention that is not bestowed
upon them at the moment.
9 pm...Have all young Weasels and self in bed. Eldest and Mr. are on their own.
5 am...Wake up with a tickle in my throat, have coffee, buzz around the blog scene.
6:45 am...Start waking the Den, who are still all complaining about throat pain and or chin pain.
7:45 am...After having made lunches, actually look in throats. Win mother of the year award as
all aforementioned throats are red swollen and yucky.
7:48 am... Kiss Mr. Weasel goodbye and inform him that no one is going to school today.
7:55 am...Call Weasels out of school.
8 am... Waiting for pediatrician office to open to get strep tests and make an appointment for
removal of stitches.
Add to this some poison Ivy contracted at the Cross Country Field.
Sure, not quite Jack Bauer, but my day isn't over in 24.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
That's a direct quote, said about me yesterday. This morning I am saying it about myself. Let me start by stating that I am a couch potato. More accurately I am a lawn chair potato(in the summer months anyway). The only real exercise I get is the constant motion of caring for my family, and that isn't the right kind of exercise. Beer curls also do not seem to help with the biceps the way I would like.
Mr. Weasel on the other hand tries to make a point to take a run or go for a bike ride. He often encourages me to join him and once in a while I do. I hadn't done so for months.
Yesterday however, was one morning that I did join him. Now this was not a grueling kind of run. He had scaled things back so as to accommodate my lesser state of fitness. The run felt good and was a good start to the day.
Immediately after we finished we had to hurry and get Eldest Weasel to Cross Country practice. We decided to both go and stay until practice was finished. We took the time to meander around the course and trek the path through the woods. The cool shade of the woods and the soft, matted ground brought back memories of Once Upon a Time when I used to run Cross and how much fun it was. I could not help myself and wound up running the path. By the time we left the path the team was finished with warm ups and ready to run.
Being a holiday, not all of the coaches were able to be there. They needed more help monitoring the teens who run by groups according to pace. Sure we'll help out! We're here anyway, not a big deal. All we had to do was keep an eye around different parts of the course and watch for injuries or stragglers. That was until there was a kid who was getting cramps and couldn't keep up with his group. The coach was trying to keep an eye on him and keep with the rest of group simulataneously, not an easy feat, so I was asked to run with the straggler, Mr. Weasel had been smart enough to have changed into sandals before we left home.
This kid was struggling, but still pushing through. The pace wasn't too much and I still felt pretty good. Fast forward 5 minutes and now I'm the one who could use a little extra help. He's getting cramps and running through the pain and still able to be kicking my butt. I managed to push through for a little while, but gave up the second he was once again in plain view of the coaches. I had nothing left and definitely wasn't looking too cool.
|These kids can run|
|And so can this one|
The rest of the day was spent back in my lawn chair doing beer curls, much more my pace.
This morning I was trying to remember the license plate of the Mack truck that had hit me as I woke up. Even my eyelids hurt. Walking down the stairs was an exercise of epic proportions. The more I move the better I feel, but am not looking forward to tomorrow morning when Mr. Weasel has vowed to drag me from my bed and force me back into my running shoes. Ugh, what a maroon!